


Demon In the Skin

by farad



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buck, Chris, the aftermath of the razor . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demon In the Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phoenix1972](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix1972/gifts).



> For Phoenix1972 - thanks for the awesome Halloween present!

"Mr. Wilmington? Do you have a minute?"

He waved a few more seconds as the stage rolled out of town and Terry pulled Olivia back into it. His pocket watch swung back and forth, brushing against the sleeve of his coat as he held onto the chain. He was going to miss them – both of them. 

He turned to find Mary Travis standing on the boardwalk in front of her store, looking at him. She had an apron over her nice dress, a pencil tucked behind her ear, and her arms were crossed over her waist, just under her breasts. The position lifted them nicely, framing them. He swallowed, forcing his eyes upwards to hers. 

It was difficult. For a woman of her standing in the town, she wasn't as concerned about what she covered up as she probably should have been. 

But that was none of his concern. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Travis?" he asked, stepping a little closer but also casting a glance down the road. The scar at his neck from the razor Chris had used itched, a reminder, but Chris and Vin were talking to each other, slowly walking back toward the saloon. 

He shook his head at his own worry – that wound was almost healed, just a little pull every now and then. 

Mary stepped closer, close enough to smell the soft lilac and sweet grass that was her scent. "I – well, I – my son is coming to back to town. He should be here in the day after tomorrow, on the stage and I – well," she drew a deep breath and like Buck, she, too, glanced up to where Chris and Vin were walking away. "I wonder if you think, since you know him so well, if Mr. Larabee might be someone who would be willing to talk to Billy. After his father died, Billy had such a hard time staying here, such bad dreams, that I felt I had to send him away." She looked back to Buck, her eyes wide and haunted, reminding him too much of another set of eyes he knew well, another set of ghosts.

Buck drew in a breath, not quite sure what would come out of his mouth when he opened it, but he was stalled when Mary went on, her words faster now, as if chased by a demon. "I want him to stay, to choose to be here, with me. To do that, he's got to feel safe, to feel that there is someone where he can talk to, someone who can protect him."

Buck didn't mean to stop her, but she was talking so fast at this point that he could barely make out her words. "Whoa, ma'am," he said as he lifted a hand to get her attention. "That's a fair lot to be worrying on, especially this soon. We ain't been here long enough to guarantee the town's safety – you should know that, ma'am." She had the good grace to look away at his words, but it wasn't as if he was making it up. She had been one of the first ones out of her house three nights ago, when they had managed to round up Coltrane's men, and Coltrane himself was dead in the street. 

She had also been the one to hear the end of Chris' angry tirade, wanting to know how, exactly, Coltrane's men had gotten their hands on Olivia. 

It had been a sight to see, not so much Chris angry – Buck was so accustomed to that that he only noticed when it wasn't the case. But the idea of Chris getting all hot and bothered over a child, taking to task the people who were supposed to be watching over that child – that had been a welcome sight. 

It helped Buck's conscience that Ezra and Josiah had both accepted the guilt for it, though Ezra had grumbled that he wasn't a babysitter, paid or otherwise. 

"Yes, I know," she said with a sigh, looking back to where Chris and Vin had disappeared into the saloon. "But I – well, I miss Billy. Seeing Terry and Olivia these past few days has just made me miss him all the more. And with all of you here now, helping with the trouble, maybe we can make this town a safe place. I want Billy to be a part of that, back here, with me."

Though turned away from him, he could see the pain in her face, the tears that threatened to spill over, and it was a physical effort not to reach out to her. His hand itched and he couldn't stop himself from moving closer, leaning in toward her.

But as he did, he felt the tug of still-leaning flesh at his throat, a reminder of what Chris had said. There was no way he'd ever be able to convince Chris that he hadn't been trying to get under Mary's skirt, even though he hadn't been. He'd been hoping to find a way to hold Chris here for a while, to give him something good to think on for a while – maybe even a long while. It was time for Chris to settle down, at least a little, to start remembering the finer things that life had to offer, even if they weren't the things Chris really wanted.

It was time for him to learn to settle, just like Buck had done, all those years ago. "I wish I could help, Mary," he said softly, thrusting his hands into his coat pockets. He'd forgotten he was still holding the pocket watch and the chain bit into the skin of his hand with the hardness of his grip. "But – well, Chris - I – he - " He stopped, having no idea how to explain this without saying more than he should. And knowing Chris, Buck already had. 

"I guess he's right," she said, lifting one hand to rub at against her eyes. "I guess I can't understand what he's been through. I understand losing someone love you, a spouse, but I can't imagine losing my child." She looked at Buck, trying for a smile. It didn't quite settle on her face, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching for her.

"He's getting better," he said, ignoring the spike of pain from his throat. "He was worried about Olivia – that's the first sign I've seen a long time that he's - " His throat closed suddenly, the words catching low, the air rushing out as if he were choking. He coughed, turning away from Mary, trying to clear his throat.

The point where the razor had cut ached, and he put his hand to it, surprised to find it damp, as if the wound had reopened. Which made no sense. The scab had been gone for a while now. 

"Are you all right?" Mary asked, touching his shoulder. "Should I get Nathan?"

He coughed again but shook his head. The pressure was easing, enough for him to breathe, though not yet enough for him to speak. 

Mary waited for a few seconds, watching him as he took slow, easy breaths, then when he straightened and swallowed, she said, "I understand your concerns. And you're probably right. It's too soon for me to be asking favors of him, especially those kind." She sighed, but this time, the smile settled though it was very small. "Are you sure you're all right?"

He nodded. "Just need a little whiskey," he said, pleased when the words, though rough, came out without setting off another bout of coughing. 

She nodded. "Thank you for your advice," she said, lifting her skirts as she turned back toward the door of the Clarion. 

"Ma'am," he said, touching the brim of his hat even as he cleared his throat again. 

As he made his way to the saloon, he saw Chris and Vin sitting on the boardwalk, a bottle of whiskey on the wooden barrel between them. Vin had his legs stretched out in front of him and was blowing on his harmonica, not a tune that Buck had ever heard - and he'd heard more than his fair share. In fact, it sounded nothing like a tune at all, more like a noise the wind would make as it blew over a deep canyon. 

Or the noise a ghost would make if it set out to wake a body up. 

Chris was leaning forward in his chair, his hat pushed back, his elbows on his knees. In one hand, he held his pocket knife and Buck swallowed again, even though he remembered clearly that Chris had used the barber’s razor. 

In the other, he held a small chunk off wood, one that looked to have been trimmed off a roof beam. He was cutting away at it, slowly and methodically, in a manner Buck hadn't seen in – well, a damned long time. 

Part of him shivered, remembering the times before, when he and Chris would end the day sitting on the porch, sharing whiskey and walking about the horses while Sarah cooked dinner inside and Adam ran around in the yard, wanting to know what his daddy was whittling for him. 

Part of him felt the warmth of that memory spread through him. 

"You get your watch back?" Vin asked, grinning lazily.

Buck took a second before he recalled the incident with Olivia and the stage, then he, too, grinned. "Yeah," he said, picking up the bottle and taking a sip straight from it. "She's gonna be a wild one, I tell you."

"Ain't they all?" Vin asked.

"To hear Buck tell it, they are," Chris agreed, but he was smiling too. 

Buck took another sip of the whiskey, looking down at Chris. Smiling and whittling. Maybe he was making progress.

And maybe, if Buck kept his mouth shut, Chris would keep doing it. 

With that though, the whiskey went down even smoother, as if his throat opened up.


End file.
